Chapter 17
Chapter 17
H er arms refused to unclasp from the tree. She hadn’t been afraid when she shimmied up, no matter how high she’d had to go to get a good view. She hadn’t been afraid while watching John fight all the men, not really. Perhaps she’d had some nibbles of anxiety, but not real fear. Now, however, her body remained welded to the tree, unable to let go in her delayed reaction to the scene she’d witnessed. John could have died .
“Juni.” John stood at the base of her tree and whispered, staring up at her. Not that he could see her through the thick foliage, but he made a good approximation of where he thought she was. When she made no sound in reply, he whistled for her, the long-forgotten whistle that used to be their signal. She opened her mouth to yell down, but no sound came out.
Approximately four seconds later, he stood beside her in the tree, one arm latched around the trunk. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Why didn’t you answer?”
She blinked.
“You stuck?” he guessed.
She nodded.
Instead of scolding her, or even carrying her, as she thought he might, he surprised her by perching beside her on the big, sturdy branch. For a few moments they sat in silence. His gaze followed hers, over the clearing now strewn with bodies, bodies he’d conquered and discarded.
“You saw everything,” he said.
She nodded.
Silence.
“This is what I do,” he said at last, quietly, resolutely.
She faced him then. “You think I’m upset?”
“You’re hugging this tree like it’s your new best friend,” he noted.
“A guanacaste,” she said.
“What?”
“This tree.” She patted its bark. “A guanacaste.”
“I thought it was called an elephant ear tree,” he said.
“It is.” She let out a breath. “I’m not upset.”
“Your grip on the guanacaste tree says otherwise,” he said.
“I’m not upset with you . This is your job. I don’t know how many ways to tell you I understand and accept that,” she said.
“If you’re not upset, then why won’t you come down?” he asked.
“Because I was embarrassed,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Because I was afraid. I know you don’t like that particular weakness or emotion. I was trying to work through it, and I probably would have, but you got back here too fast. You’re so quick, Bear.” She tossed him a scowl.
He slid his arm around her and rested his head on hers. “Ah, Juni. Ya vex me, girl.”
Her head tilted to land against his shoulder and she snuggled, as much as she could on a high branch. “I know. But how in particular at this moment?”
“I don’t like fear in myself, in my men. You’re not subject to that particular rule,” he said.
“I want to be brave like you,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be brave like you. It was my biggest life goal as a kid, and I’m afraid I’ve failed.”
“You’re brave in other ways,” he said.
“What ways?”
“You’re not afraid to take a chance on people, to put yourself out there and be vulnerable. That’s brave, and that’s not me.”
“You’re so tender,” she said, nestling as close as she dared without knocking them off.
He laughed. The sound was so rusty and ill-used he should probably stop doing it. But he couldn’t help it; Juniper made him laugh. “How can you say that, after what you just saw?”
“Because you did all that and then scurried up a tree to comfort me. How could I say anything else?” She peeled her head back to regard him.
His heart thundered. He told himself it was the post-fight adrenaline rush, but he didn’t believe it. It was her. Juniper Dunbar had this effect on him. Absolutely no one else in his life could make him climb a tree to offer a gentle word, and especially not so soon after a fight that nearly ended in a loss. Usually he withdrew into himself to critique his strategy, to flagellate himself for his mistakes so he could plan better for next time. Now he sat at the top of a tall tree, letting a rare cool breeze blow over him as he shared the space with a pretty girl.
“You know what this reminds me of?” he asked.
“Home?” she guessed.
When he left at eighteen, John cut that word out of his vocabulary. The army was his home, his forever home now. But sitting there with Juniper while the sun sank lower through the trees, it felt the same as it had all those many nights so long ago when, despite his pain and anguish, he knew he would eventually leave the woods and return to the Dunbars for supper. And at that supper he would sit silently while alternating Dunbars tried to outdo each other with talking. Dustin would ask probing questions. The kids would rush to answer. Juniper would scoot her chair as close as possible to his, darting him looks throughout the meal, trying to read his mood and guess his thoughts. Juniper’s mother would eat bites of her meal like a jack in the box, darting up and down to serve her family food. John could picture it, could hear the utter chaos of it, could almost smell it. “Yes, home.”
Juniper’s hand slid to his thigh and gave it a pat, one that said she knew every thought he’d had before he uttered the hard-won admission. He’d had a home once, filled with people who loved him. As much as he’d tried hard to pretend it didn’t exist, it did. Evidence of it was right beside him in this tree.
“Will we make it to the base tonight?” she asked.
“We could, if we pushed it.”
“If we don’t push it, what happens?”
“We’ll spend another night together in the hammock. But I’m almost out of rations. I only packed enough for one day.”
“There are much worse things than going hungry,” Juniper said.
“Yes,” John agreed. He picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze, keeping it tucked in his grasp as they sat still and watched the sun sink deeper in the trees.
E ventually they descended the tree. Skirting the insurgents’ campsite, they walked a while farther, until it was too dark to see, then set up their own small camp and hammock.
They tucked into the hammock and faced each other, one hand pillowed under their cheeks. His free hand rested on her waist while her free hand reached up to touch the ever-increasing stubble on his cheek.
“Look what happens to you away from the influence of a razor. Your nickname is becoming more appropriate by the moment.”
“I’m going to start acting like a bear, too. It’s itchy.”
Her palm rasped over his cheek and, catlike, he leaned in to her touch. “Tell me about what happened after I went away,” he said.
She froze. “What do you mean?”
“With you. You finished growing up. Were there boys?”
“A few,” she said.
“Anyone special?”
She tapped his chest.
“Come on, now. Don’t fib,” he commanded.
“Let me tell you how it went. I wanted to go to prom, rather desperately.”
“But you didn’t go to school,” he interrupted.
“Now you see my problem. So Mama put out the word around town that I was looking for a willing taker.”
“Oh, boy.” Knowing their town the way he did, he could imagine how that went over.
“Exactly. I had no less than four boys ask me. I, of course, chose the cream of the crop.”
“And who might that have been?” he asked, trying to kill that odd stab of what felt a lot like jealousy.
“Del Bradford.”
“The bow-legged boy with the braces and buck teeth?”
“He lost the braces and grew into those teeth quite nicely, thank you very much.”
“Huh. So how was prom with old Del?”
“It was…ordinary,” she said.
“What’s wrong with ordinary?” he asked.
“Nothing, if that’s what you expect. But I expected spectacular, like all those books I used to read. Instead it was a stinky gym filled with nervous, sweaty teenagers, swaying off beat to outdated tunes.”
“Not a love match with Del?”
“One slobbery kiss and I slugged him in the stomach when he tried for more.”
“That’s my girl,” he said. “I bet his mama made you a milkshake.” The Bradfords owned the largest dairy farm in the area and saw themselves as promoters of a milk-maximum lifestyle. There wasn’t a child in town who hadn’t been plied with one or more of Mrs. Bradford’s milkshakes. They were so ubiquitous she gave out miniaturized versions for Halloween.
“Chocolate malt,” she said cheerfully.
“I could have guessed you were a malt kind of girl. All the extras for Juni.”
“It almost made up for the horrid evening. Almost.”
“So, was that it? One lousy date with Del?”
“Look who’s suddenly curious about my love life,” she said.
“I guess I’m curious about a lot of things. More than I realized,” he said. “For instance your family,” he began, but she preempted him.
“While I’m thinking of it, can I ask you a question and get an honest answer?”
“I’m always honest, Juni. You know that.”
“I used to,” she said. As a kid, John always told the absolute truth, no matter how painful for him or the hearer.
“That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed. I’m the same then as I am now, only more so. Ask your question, Miss Dunbar.”
“A few weeks ago, before you walked into my tent, did you ever imagine it could be this way with a woman? All this touching. So comfortable and easy?”
The question made him squirm, poked the soft spot in his center. But, as he’d said, he would be nothing less than honest when he answered. “No, I never would have guessed. But it’s probably because it’s you. There’s a history there, a foundation and trust.”
“Let me ask you another question,” she said.
“Ugh, woman,” he sighed, somehow knowing the first question would be easier by far.
“If you’ve come this far in a matter of days with me, can you imagine where we could be in a few years?” she said.
He had absolutely no reply to that. But he also had the sense she’d meant to leave him speechless and pondering. He wanted to find an answer, if only so she didn’t win. But he couldn’t because he had none.
She leaned closer and kissed his cheek, the brush of her lips unbearably pleasant and soft. “Night, Bear. Sweet dreams.”
If he had any dreams, he was certain they’d all be about her. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried not to move, think, or even breathe. His last thought before he dropped to sleep was the same as it usually was lately. Blast you, Juniper Dunbar.